Earth Dragons roared through the undercity, buried thunder rolling under clay and brick.

Lin slipped past barrier after barrier, a reed bending in storm, returning to their old level like a homing swallow.

Back then, Yin Tiancheng shielded Yin Chen Yue here, a wall in hard rain; they wouldn’t wander without cause, not in this iron night.

At the gate, emptiness clung like dust. A crumpled note lay there, ink crawling like ant trails across torn paper.

He read slowly, breath caught like a fish in a net. The boss had gone to the nearest office, seeking medicine for Yin Chen Yue.

Yet the medicine here was poison in silk wrapping; if she swallowed it, the illness would bloom like mold and eat her faster.

He didn’t know how long Yin Tiancheng had left, shadow slipping down a corridor. He prayed the steps were slow, distance short, fate gentle.

Lin let the note fall, a leaf breaking from a branch, and ran toward the study with wind at his heels.

The path opened like a clean river. He pushed the door. Inside sat neatness, every object in its old orbit, dust calm as frost.

No one had come. Silence held the room, a still pond. His boss hadn’t reached the study at all.

If you want to save a life, medicine is a lantern in night. The study held the nearest stores. He hadn’t come. Then the labs below?

He wouldn’t forsake near for far, not in a storm. A cold thought slipped in like winter: maybe he’d met misfortune.

Pacing the study, his mind a flock of startled birds, Lin caught a thin sound, like a moth tapping on paper.

The soft voice pricked him back to focus, cloud parted by a moon. He followed it, chest tight as drum skin.

He leaned against the bookshelf, fingers testing spines, one by one, like a musician plucking strings in the dark.

At last the hidden door sighed open, a seam in wood. He went down the passage, a wick burning low, breath shallow.

On a cushion lay Yin Chen Yue, teeth set against pain, a small boat in hard waves, her groan thin as thread.

Her skin and flesh peeled in patches, petals torn by frost. Blood welled from wounds, a red river soaking gauze and air.

Her rosy cheeks had turned winter-pale. Her heart hammered, a trapped bird, unable to tame two vast forces coursing in her blood.

She’d taken the medicine. Hope guttered like a candle in wind. Even a touch could call the Abyssal Aura, and make her collapse faster.

Lin dared not move her, fear tight like a vine. Seeing her, he knew: Yin Tiancheng had gone to the undercity to seek help.

He had to find someone who could suppress those twin torrents in her body, or Yin Chen Yue would fall like a wilting flower.

Around her neck lay the Magic Tool Yin Tiancheng left, Mana breathing faintly like mist at dawn.

Two silver chains intertwined, moonlight braids, holding a heart-shaped Magic Stone, the necklace Qin Yu gave him, warm with memory.

It couldn’t attack, only bloom a magic shield the instant danger struck, a guardian umbrella in sudden rain.

But below, the undercity swarmed with Earth Dragons, scales like soil, eyes like coals. There were no humans to be found.

Without his Magic Tools, Yin Tiancheng would be prey in a pit. The thought bit like winter teeth.

The southern elevator was dead iron. To reach the undercity, only the nearest shaft remained, a throat dropping into dark.

Lin rushed there. Scratches and dust told of recent use, signs like footprints on wet sand.

He didn’t hesitate. He jumped into the shaft, a hawk diving, spine set, air whipping cold around him.

Yin Tiancheng felt his way forward through rooms, a blind man with a match. In the soil he met many Monsters wearing tan scales.

Their senses were sharp, knives under cloth. He could only creep, a cat in high grass, breath held, steps small.

He was a normal man, a boat without oars. Fighting Earth Dragons was a rock wall; it wouldn’t give to bare hands.

He had no extra Magic Tools, no iron talismans. Only flour in his palm, and a lighter and cooking wine from the kitchen.

He’d learned a little, survival tricks like knots. In some moments, these humble things could keep a flame alive.

He slipped through another house, body a shadow on paper, dodging Earth Dragons that walked fixed patterns like clockwork sentries.

Yet the strangeness grew, a thorn in his heel. So many researchers were dragged back by the Abyss, so many hadn’t evacuated.

He hadn’t seen a single person. The hallway felt like a dried riverbed, emptiness sifting in like sand.

At his wits’ end, he finally saw someone. A lab coat gleamed like a flag in gray dust. A researcher, without doubt.

Hope flared, a spark leaping to kindling. Yin Chen Yue could be saved.

Yin Tiancheng rushed forward, heart like a drum. He didn’t see the wrong angle inside that man’s stillness.

He seized the researcher’s hand, fingers shaking. “Please save my daughter!”

Silence answered, heavy as fog. The vacant pupils slid down, slow raindrops, and fixed on his chest.

“Heart…”

“Yes, the heart!” His voice trembled like a taut string, faith reaching for light.

The man stretched out his hand. Fine tan scales covered his fingertips, gravel pressed into skin, creeping toward Yin Tiancheng’s chest.

With a little force, he could pluck the heart like fruit, quick and clean, life cut from the branch.

Even in wild relief, Yin Tiancheng felt the wrong wind. His gaze followed that dull stare downward and saw the scaled hand.

“Hiss…” The sound rose, cold as a snake under stone. His pupils pinched to pinpoints.

He jerked back, a deer in thornbush, trying to flee. But the man moved like a striking hawk, too fast for a mortal.

He closed his eyes, waiting for death, a candle ready to gutter, the night leaning in.

His life had been blessed. He met Qin Yu, spring rain on parched earth. He rode reform’s wave, sails bright.

Rouge Rabbit flourished under his hands, gardens blooming. He and Qin Yu built a good life, a warm home, a lovely daughter.

But he couldn’t accept a winter ending. His daughter was caged by sickness; Rouge Rabbit’s legacy stood before the Abyssal Rift like a clay wall.

All his work might dissolve into bubbles, glimmering and gone. He felt guilt weigh like stone for daughter, for wife.

Death didn’t arrive. Big hands caught the scaled fingers near his chest, like tongs catching a coal, and pressed that hand back where it belonged.

“An employee should act like an employee. Don’t lay hands on the boss.”

Lin bound the creature and tossed it aside, a sack pulled from floodwater.

Yin Tiancheng opened his eyes, breath ragged as torn cloth. He crushed down fear and looked at Lin, voice unsteady.

“That was… close.” The words fell like stones into a well.

Lin didn’t answer. He glanced back at a charging tide of Earth Dragons, scales rippling like a field in wind.

He scooped Yin Tiancheng up, easy as lifting a child, and carried him back to the office, footsteps quick as rain.

Yin Tiancheng hardly dared breathe, chest tight as twine. He’d seen big scenes, but never this many Monsters snapping at his heels.

If Lin hadn’t arrived, he’d be meat on an Earth Dragon’s plate, bones clean as winter sticks.

His heart thudded, drum under a heavy hand. Unknown pressure had weighed on it. Now, after a “thrilling” chase, it threatened rebellion.

Fifty was close, winter near. First time trapped in an Abyssal Rift—what an experience… not at all.

He longed for youth, those fearless days, sky wide and earth firm. But age had settled like dusk in his bones.

No time for longing. He crouched by Yin Chen Yue, hands gentle as warm cloth, soothing the girl’s pain.

He was flustered, steadiness scattered like leaves. Right now, he wasn’t a boss. He was a father in a storm.

Lin stopped him from feeding medicine, palm raised like a gate. The drugs here were wrong, a bright bottle hiding thorns.

He added that besides the Doctor, no other researchers were nearby, emptiness spreading like frost down corridors.

Yin Tiancheng stood thunderstruck, lightning in his ribs, but he held a sliver of hope like an ember in ash.

The Doctor was still here, a lantern in mist.

The Doctor hadn’t made the drugs, but talent was his blade. He was the last straw, a reed over deep water, to save Yin Chen Yue.

“Take us to the Doctor.” His voice reached like a rope across a gap.

“No…” Lin’s answer settled like a stone.

He glanced at Yin Chen Yue on the ground, face pale as moonlight, and chose another path, quiet and firm.

He’d bring the Eye Orb and the others here. For now, Yin Tiancheng and Yin Chen Yue must stay. He would guard like a gate.

Night Frost was badly hurt, body a field after battle. Moving would tear her like brittle paper. Yin Chen Yue was the same.

Neither side could walk to the other, bridges washed out. Better to wait until Night Frost could stand, then bring Eye Orb and Night Frost to aid.

If he left, danger might swallow Yin Tiancheng and Yin Chen Yue, quick as tide. If the Doctor left, Night Frost would face wolves.

With people scarce, each reed mattered. They couldn’t afford a misstep, not on this cliff edge.

He spoke through the communicator, words traveling like sparks along wire. The Eye Orb accepted Lin’s plan.

Night Frost’s injuries were grave, but her heart’s power flowed like a river in spring. It outstripped the Eye Orb’s imagination.

Now her wounds had closed, stitches made by time. Only one problem remained: her blood was low, a well nearly dry.

In a few hours, Lin could bring Eye Orb and Night Frost to the office, footsteps measured, timing tight as drumbeats.

Once there, the Doctor planned to retrieve his body, flesh to match mind, one more blade on their side.

Under Eye Orb’s treatment, Night Frost woke, lids lifting like shutters at dawn. She tried to rise, but her strength was ash.

The drain had bitten deep. Her limbs were reeds after frost, bending and weak.

She took in the layout, eyes moving like lanterns. It looked like a warehouse, concrete breath stale and cool.

The last person she’d seen was Lin, shadow and steel. Had Lin brought her here, set her down like a bundle in dry shelter?

That guy’s temper was sour in places, thorn and honey. But his heart wasn’t bad, warmth under armor.

Mid-thought, a familiar mechanical chime rang, like a bell inside a shell. Night Frost squinted, seeking the source.

She found a blue-glowing Eye Orb resting on her abdomen, a little moon cupped in her hands.

Memory surged back, tide pulling her to months ago, the first time she met the Eye Orb under neon and night.

“Why are you back to this again?” Her voice was sandpaper soft, curious and tired.

The Eye Orb sounded helpless, shoulders in tone. He hadn’t wanted this. Fate had pinned him like a butterfly.

Sadly, Chu Qing was far stronger, a storm over a candle. Without knowing her abilities, the Eye Orb lost in a few moves.

“Where’s Lin?” Her question floated like a leaf, worry tucked under it.

“Lin went to find Yin Tiancheng and Yin Chen Yue.” The answer fell steady, a line tossed across water.

The names felt familiar, echoes in a cave. She knew Yin Chen Yue. Yin Tiancheng… he was likely her father.

They should’ve evacuated, ships leaving harbor. Then the Abyss must be vast, a shroud over Rouge Rabbit.

“As you think,” the Eye Orb said, voice a wire. “This Abyss swallows all of Rouge Rabbit, a mouth closing.”

“Chu Qing used masses of ordinary people, forging an Earth Dragon army, scales and teeth rolling like a tide.”

“Right now, only Lin can enter battle at once, blade drawn, breath even.”

Bad news laid heavy, iron on chest. Crimson was missing, a lantern gone dark.

The Doctor had only an Eye Orb left, mind without hands. Night Frost could channel Mana, but the bracelet’s final step remained a locked gate.

On the other side, Chu Qing stood strong, mountain against rain. The Earth Dragon army was countless, a swarm darkening fields.

Night Frost’s side was mostly injured and exhausted, old bones and fresh wounds. Power was lopsided, scales tipped hard.

“What’s your goal now?” Her voice was a narrow bridge, steady.

“Find Cantata Three,” the Eye Orb replied, like a note held. “Fight, or flee.”

The knot was tight, a noose on the city’s throat. Perhaps only Cantata Three could cut the rope and let wind in.

But where did Crimson go, a comet off its track? Silence held that answer like a sealed jar.

No one knew, except Crimson, a secret carried under red light.